Stavanger Bay Warpless

If only Smokestep could hear the thoughts that played through the female's mind; he would have been quick to take offense to the thought that there were only a few of them in the territory. Though he was working hard to establish borders and mark them sufficiently, he still had a great deal of recruiting to manage. Regardless, it was fortunate for her that the pale corsair held no telepathic capabilities. Instead, he felt a tug of pride at the splash of humor that she dared to show in regards to his age. Not long after, she took to addressing his inquiry. Smokestep had certainly not anticipated the tale that she was weaving.

It seemed that the red woman had encountered a witchdoctor pack; at least, in regards to where Smokestep had been raised, that is what it seemed to be. The borders had been marked in blood and remains. It should have been a vile thing to listen to, but the pirate was entertained by her recounting of the tale. There was a vast majority of what she said that went well over the boy's head. His ears still remained trained on her every word until she had finished and left him feeling quite peculiar inside. The white-furred hound had begun to mull over the final statement that she had given.

“Well, it does sound like ye've been through the ringer,” he remarked with a thoughtful frown. “I don't know if there are many normal lads or lasses out there, though.” Something did tickle at the back of his mind. The pirate drew his skull upward and watched her with a curious expression for a short minute before he released a sigh and loosened the muscles in his haunches. His mind was full of dangerous possibilities that had driven him to a strange mixture of excitement and fear.

“Say, how did ye get away not bein' caught an' all?”